


suspiria

by immortalflowers



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Clubbing, Friends With Benefits, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Glitter, Happy Ending, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Wall Sex, Yunho calls Mingi princess as a term of endearment, if you need another incentive to read Mingi is wearing a crop-top leather pants and a faux fur coat, implied seongjoongsang, it deserves its own tag okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28510566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immortalflowers/pseuds/immortalflowers
Summary: The neon lights on the street wash out Mingi’s complexion but make his hair a brilliant kaleidoscope of colors, and Yunho is enamored; staring at him like he’s seeing color for the first time in his life.
Relationships: Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 94





	suspiria

**Author's Note:**

> hey can you guys tell that i miss mingi bc i miss mingi :( i hope our boy is well <3
> 
> happy new year everyone, let's start it with a bang this time lol
> 
> do leave kudos and comments in exchange for eternal gratitude!! thank you for reading <3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/yoongsicle)  
> [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/immortalflowers)  
> 

The yellow lights of the club are making the chunky glitter highlight on Mingi’s cheeks and collarbones look like honey dripping down his golden skin. Or maybe it’s just sweat. Either way, Yunho wants to lick it off; wants to mess it up. Leave his mark on Mingi somewhere along the tendon in his neck, where everyone can see.

The song playing overhead is something slow and sinful, magnetic in the way it pulls half of his friend group on the dance floor. Mingi too. Though Mingi has been there for the better part of the night—dancing with friends and strangers alike. And Yunho quite likes to watch, but Mingi gets swallowed by the crowd, and that simply won’t do.

He knocks his drink back, only to wade into the sea of squirming, sweaty bodies. Most people look high out of their minds, the rest drunk on alcohol or whatever it is that’s in the air tonight. 

He sees two girls making out not far from him. One of them catches his eye, asking him to join them. And on another night he might have; on any other night Mingi wasn’t looking this good, wasn’t teasing Yunho the whole day, he would’ve joined them. But not tonight.

He sends a wink in their direction and feels a hand grab his forearm, pulling him along; deeper into the heart of carnal desires. 

And there, in the middle of it all, is the personification of all wet dreams Yunho’s ever had, and he finds that the owner of the hand is Yeosang. There’s a smirk on Yeosang’s face like he knows how much the sight will decimate Yunho, bring him to his knees.

Mingi is dancing with two strangers, a guy and a girl. Both a fair bit shorter than him, both have the grace of dancers surrounding them, and Mingi is in the middle of it all. Like the sun around which the planets orbit. 

Yunho can’t lie, secretly, he’s one of them too.

Yunho doesn’t like the fact that he’s part of the crowd, but sometimes just watching is even better than being part of what is happening in front of him. Like right now, watching Mingi dance in the wickedly tight leather pants that do nothing to hide the shape of his thigh muscles, and the black crop top that’s sticking to him like a second skin. 

Yunho wants to lick every inch of unclothed skin where the shirt ends. Wants to undress him in the middle of the dancefloor, and fuck him in front of everyone.

The song changing brings him back down. It’s a kind of rave anthem and that’s not really Yunho’s style so he goes up to Mingi where he’s looking down at the two dancers, yelling something into their ears, laughing openly. They make eye contact over their heads when an apparent lull in conversation comes, and Mingi’s eyes turn into half-moons upon seeing him, his cheeks bunching up cutely. He gives them both chaste kisses, a Mingi kind of goodbye, and leaves to throw himself on Yunho.

“Get us out of here,” he yells into Yunho’s ear, hanging off of him like his legs have given up on carrying his body after all the dancing.

Yunho manages to find a space to stand at the bar. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Tequila!” Mingi screeches excitedly, leaning heavily on poor Yeosang who followed them back. 

Yunho looks questioningly at him, raising an eyebrow in Yeosang’s direction. “I’ll have what you’re having,” he shrugs. 

Yunho calls the bartender over, a pretty girl with emerald hair and large hoop earrings. She takes their order with a smile, and Yunho smiles back, leaving a handsome tip. 

“Where are your… uh, whatever?” Yunho stammers through the question. 

“My  _ boyfriends _ ,” Yeosang says pointedly, “are currently hooking up in one of the bathroom stalls, I believe.” 

“Seonghwa hyung is fucking in a dirty club bathroom?” Mingi asks, lining up the tequila glasses in front of himself. He dips the lemon slices in salt and places one on the rim of each glass, then hands Yunho and Yeosang one, leaving the last for himself.

“I seriously doubt he’s the one doing the fucking,” Yeosang frowns, and downs his glass in one go. Yunho cringes at the face he makes. 

“Hey,” Hongjoong appears out of nowhere beside Yeosang, kissing him on the corner of his mouth, he murmurs something into his ear as Seonghwa sidles behind them both looking rather… fucked out.

“Guess Yeosang was right,” Mingi says so close to Yunho’s ear, he can feel his lips touching the shell of it. 

“Huh?” Yunho asks, still looking at the trio whispering something among themselves. He looks away once Hongjoong starts kissing Yeosang, still holding onto Seonghwa’s hand, his eyes landing on Mingi who is leaning closely into Yunho’s personal bubble—his face is so close that if Yunho leaned only a few inches in, his mouth would be close enough to Mingi’s neck to mark him. Yunho smiles, and it probably looks as predatory as it feels, if he were to judge by the way the light in Mingi’s eyes changes into something sly and heavy like caramel. 

Mingi deserves everything nice in life, Yunho decides then and there, softening his gaze into something more loving, more mellow, soft like butter.

“Your place or mine?” Mingi smiles, and it’s a little bit crooked, a little bit presumptuous. A thing that says,  _ We've done this once, let's do it again. Let's keep doing it forever. _

Yunho clinks their shot glasses together, throws the tequila back, and hates every second of it burning down his insides. “Mine is closer,” he says in answer, chewing on the lemon slice.

Yunho is about to say goodbye to their friends when he realizes they’re already gone without a trace, and if it weren’t for Yeosang’s empty shot glass, he’d think his mind conjured them all up. But sometimes they’re like that, so Yunho leaves it alone, expecting a barrage of apologies from Seonghwa tomorrow morning for leaving them all one, and  _ Did you come home safe _ ?

“They left a few minutes ago,” Mingi clues him in, tangling their fingers together and pulling him toward the exit in long strides. Yunho adores that they’re roughly the same size—makes for less manhandling and more willing participation in whatever play Yunho’s mind produces.

They take their jackets—Yunho his black coat, and Mingi his faux fur one with leopard print that Yeosang always says makes him look like a crooked caricature of a typical movie Russian whore. His skin-tight black crop top only adds to the description.

They spring apart once they exit the club, but they don’t stray too far from each other in their walk up the street to Yunho’s apartment. The neon lights on the street wash out Mingi’s complexion but make his hair a brilliant kaleidoscope of colors, and Yunho is enamored; staring at him like he’s seeing color for the first time in his life.

It takes another ten minutes of Mingi chatting tipsily about everything that comes to his mind for them to reach Yunho’s home; the lights lose their shine this far out of the city center but they’re still fresh in Yunho’s mind.

There’s no space or time for talking once they enter the apartment and Yunho finds himself pushed against the door that shot close just a few moments ago.

Mingi doesn’t even bother taking off his heeled boots and instead kisses Yunho like there’s no tomorrow; licking into his mouth, linking their hands together, and letting the other one tangle itself in Yunho’s hair.

Mingi leaves an imprint of himself pressed into Yunho’s body with how hard he’s pushing him into the door, his leg between Yunho’s own; thigh close enough to Yunho’s dick that he could come just by grinding on it.

“Aren’t you so eager?” Mingi murmurs, letting go of Yunho’s hand and hair in favor of grabbing his shoulders and raking his long painted nails down his back. Yunho himself had painted them meticulously a few days ago a particularly garish shade of purple, close to periwinkle.

Yunho looks him straight in the eye as he takes his breath away, unbuttoning his leather pants and kissing him hard at the same time. “Try again,” he says when he wraps his long fingers around Mingi’s already half-hard dick. “ _ Princess _ ,” he adds to further antagonize him.

Mingi whimpers, the dry slide can’t feel good, but he’s not backing out. He’s not saying anything; just standing there with his hands on Yunho’s shoulders letting him do whatever he wants. The only thought in Yunho’s head is that he looks like an obedient puppy.

Yunho is pleased after he pushes bodily against him, and Mingi goes willingly. His eyes are slitted with lust, and Yunho bites at the side of his neck, pushing his front against the wall. “Be good now,” he mumbles, pulling at Mingi’s leather pants slightly stuck on his skin with sweat from dancing and the heat of other bodies.

“Stay here,” Yunho tells him, going to his room to rummage through his dresser drawers in search of lube and condoms. 

He takes his coat off on the way back, only to find Mingi in the same exact way he'd left him. He smirks, “My good little princess.”

Mingi makes a garbled sound at the back of his mouth. Says, “You have a bedroom… with a bed.”

“Your point?” Yunho asks, kicking at Mingi’s feet to get them to spread as far as they will go with the pants and boxers still pushed around his knees. The boots are just… too much work for Yunho’s alcohol-muddled and overly excited brain to figure out right now. 

“That’s—ah—” Mingi moans around the first finger Yunho pushes inside, still kneeling behind him. “Fucking cold. You piece of shit!” Mingi accuses, and then chokes on another moan.

Yunho bites the spot just under his ass, and Mingi  _ keens _ . “You gonna be good for me now?” 

He adds another finger and stands up, placing the hand that isn’t otherwise occupied around Mingi’s waist, touching the soft skin there, the dips his muscles make, rising the shirt up under his armpits. 

He grabs Mingi’s chin to make him look at him and sees the answer ready on Mingi’s lips, something condescending and annoying, but Yunho won’t give him the satisfaction of saying whatever dumb thought his mind had made up. He bites Mingi’s full lower lip, watches as he closes his eyes in pain, pain,  _ pleasure _ . Pushes the fingers inside him a fraction faster, scissors them to get him to open up, and does it all over again with Mingi’s breathing getting harsher and shorter with each press and touch.

“Ah,  _ ah _ , Yunho-ya,” Mingi mumbles against his lips, his eyes still closed tightly, lips slick with spit already puffy and swollen. 

Yunho gentles his hand, pulls out to add more lube, pushes all three fingers back inside harshly just to hear that little punched out groan leave Mingi’s sinful lips. Yunho realizes there’s glitter on them too. He licks it off, kisses at his cheekbone to spread the gold further out.

“What do you need Mingi baby?” he asks, letting go of Mingi’s body to rid himself of the belt, the metal buckle hitting the floor only an isolated dissonance in the back of his mind, his hands working fast, then faster to push his acid wash jeans down and away.

It feels so very obscene to still be fully dressed while Mingi is all rumpled and pushed to the side clothes, hair a mess, the skin of his neck shining like amber, and all Yunho wants is to place him inside his mouth whole. Wants to have him all for himself, his little secret.

“You, you,” Mingi gasps, “I need you. Want you.” His hands are uselessly scraping at the wall and Yunho wonders if he will leave periwinkle colored lines there that will be hard to explain to his landlord. 

“Place your hands palms-up on the wall, Mingi-ya,” Yunho orders. “Can’t have you marking my wall, okay?”

“Yeah,” Mingi says, sounding more lucid than Yunho expected he would be by now.

He pulls his fingers free, tearing open the condom packaging and rolling it on; adds more lube on his hand, and pumps his dick to take the edge off. His left hand goes into Mingi’s hair, to hold him steady as the other holds his dick and pushes into Mingi in small increments of push and pull that have Mingi alternating between gasping and squeezing and crying out. 

“Almost there, princess,” Yunho gasps, sheathing his dick fully into Mingi. He lets go of Mingi’s hair and grabs his side, splaying the fingers of the other hand over his stomach. Mingi’s head goes willingly backward, slots itself in the crook of Yunho’s neck, pants there, and bites Yunho’s shoulder whenever he pushes in especially languid, especially punishing.

“Yunho-ya,” Mingi chokes out, his hands curling around nothing in agitation. “Yunho-ya, I wanna see you,” he says.

Yunho grunts in answer, pushing in once-twice more, biting the back of Mingi’s neck in retaliation for making him halt his motions. But the truth is—he is not mad, not even irritated, by his request, he’s more pissed about his dumb heart and/or dick for developing feelings for Mingi when he stated at the beginning very clearly there would be none.

But having met Mingi, one quickly learns that feeling nothing else but love and gentle infatuation is improbable and further along the road completely impossible.

While Mingi is ridding himself of the platformed boots with shaky fingers and finally pushing those sacrilegious leather pants off and the tight little crop-top, Yunho finds himself faced with the realization that despite taking several acting classes, he won’t be able to keep this whole arsenal of emotions away from his face. Because it’s Mingi, and it would be like looking at yourself in the mirror and pretending you cannot see your reflection.

“Can you help me stand?” Mingi asks pathetically from the floor those stupid pants still stuck on one of his feet, and Yunho laughs, loud and unbridled. “Or should we just fuck on the floor?” he mumbles mostly to himself.

Yunho picks him up by his underarms and drags him, all naked sans the ruined makeup—the soft pink glitter lipgloss now under Yunho’s tongue and the eyeshadow smeared with tears he hadn’t even noticed had fallen; tear tracks in the shape of black streaks like fallen stars down his cheeks.

“I got you,” Yunho says, pinning Mingi to the wall, kissing him open-mouthed and filthy, so at odds with his mind screaming how cute Mingi looks; how much he  _ loves  _ him. He licks over his canines and bites gently at his lower lip, Mingi’s lids at half-mast looking at Yunho soiling him with something close to disinterest, something that says  _ I’m yours, and I will let you taint me, and chase me, and eat me alive _ . 

The eye contact spurs Yunho on. He takes Mingi’s thighs in both hands, hoisting him up and marveling at the fact his knees aren’t buckling under the weight, but Mingi winds his arms around Yunho’s shoulders, holds himself up by leaning against the wall behind him, looks at Yunho like he knows something Yunho does not. 

Yunho closes his eyes and pushes back in, all breath leaving him like a punch to the gut. “Jesus, fuck.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mingi chants. “You got more of those?” he asks.

“Those what?” Yunho asks in confusion. His mind is already muddled enough by alcohol and Mingi, and so why—

“Saints? Who do you pray to?” Mingi asks through a groan and sinks his twilight-colored nails into the skin of Yunho’s shoulder blades. Yunho hopes he’ll leave marks. He wants to remember.

Yunho wants to scream it’s you you you. The patron saint of Yunho's future, past and present. His everything and nothing in equal measure.

Instead, he says, “If you’re talking this much, I must be doing something wrong.” and doubles his efforts. Fucking into him with fervor nearing on delirious lust and love and devotion, Mingi answering with staccato moans.

“I’m close,” he murmurs, going all but lack in Yunho’s arms, his head lolling back against the wall, mouth open. He looks like the personification of all his wet dreams revisited, revised, brought closer to the surface, to the truth. 

“Touch yourself, Mingi-ya,” Yunho orders.

Mingi lets go of Yunho’s shoulder, to wrap those glittery fingers around his dick, pumping in tandem with Yunho’s thrusts; comes all over them both after a few strokes. Come landing on his stomach and Yunho’s dress shirt.

And after Yunho’s body goes from electric to taut like vire to soft like a ripe pear, there’s only, “Fuck,” on his tongue, face hidden in Mingi’s neck like a god damn coward.

It takes all his strength not to let them both fall to the floor in a heap of spent buzzing bones and connective tissue; just a level away from spilling across the floor like a cup of tea or a broken pearl necklace.

He holds together another second, pulls out, and with herculean effort hoists Mingi up, only to deposit him on the floor a moment later. 

Mingi looks at him like he wants to say everything and nothing at all simultaneously, and Yunho wants to retort by saying something really stupid like, “Thank you.”

Mingi stops him before he even opens his mouth to ruin whatever this stupid tension is between them. Says, “We should clean up.” And proceeds to do just that in such a Mingi way that Yunho can’t help but laugh. He starts unbuttoning Yunho’s shirt while he just stands there motionless, a giggle escaping his mouth every time Mingi’s fingers decide to forgo hand-eye coordination and land with a hollow thump on Yunho’s abdomen or chest.

Mingi goes even further, sidling up to Yunho as if he hasn’t had enough already, kissing his collarbones and higher still, his cheeks and cheekbones, only to inevitably end up licking viciously into Yunho’s mouth. Yunho pushes him back against the wall, turns the fight into something languid, somber, filled with emotion Yunho is valiantly trying to squash into dust.

“You’re sticky,” Mingi whispers against his open mouth speaking into him and further. His deep voice made deeper with exhaustion and the simplicity of the late hour.

“So are you,” Yunho accuses lightheartedly. He takes the shirt off completely, finally pushes his pants fully off, wiping at his sticky fingers and Mingi’s stomach as gently as he can (but really, that’s the only way he knows how). 

“Carry me to bed,” Mingi yawns, obviously spent and relaxed with the orgasm; assuming the casual cuteness that landed him the nickname  _ Princess _ .

Yunho rolls his eyes, but gives in, praying his arms won’t give out as he picks Mingi up into a bridal carry; Mingi winding his arms around his neck and leaning his heated skin all over Yunho’s chest, his cheek aligned with Yunho’s heart beating wildly and deeply like a tribal drum.

He deposits him none too gently on the bed in his room, giving him his favorite space (next to the wall); Mingi goes willingly, pillowing his head on crossed arms, hair a blinding fucking mess, cherry lips bitten raw and angry. If Yunho were being dramatic he'd call him the Patroclus to his Achilles, all this golden skin spread out like temptation in Yunho's bed. He imagines them under the punishing summer sun, sharing ripe figs and drinking gods' ichor until they're delirious on it. Bodies electric, boyish, and free.

“Scoot,” Yunho says, pulling the blankets from under him and covering them both (a pointless feat since they barely even cover Yunho). Mingi manages to make himself small enough, turned in Yunho’s direction, falling into his embrace with more trust than Adam had in Eve.

“We’re never doing this against the wall again,” Mingi croaks out, his voice barely audible, suspirious. “My back’s gonna hurt like a bitch tomorrow.”

“I’ll give you a massage,” Yunho promises, sneaking his arms around Mingi’s waist, carding a hand through his hair to tame the dark locks slightly sticky with product. Mingi murmurs his assent.

It’s another five minutes of Yunho being stuck in his head, convinced Mingi is long gone, when Mingi says, “Yunho-ya, I don’t want you to fuck other people.” His eyes closed, demeanor the same. Then, “I’m being selfish, but I want you all for myself.” 

Dark eyes open, and Yunho is caught off guard with no means or way to escape. He scrambles for an answer, reaching for those emotions that steered his actions before. “I don’t want to see you with anyone else either,” he admits, looking away from Mingi’s searching eyes. There’s leftover glitter on his collar bones that catch the yellow street lights, shining like little insomnolent beacons. Yunho can’t look away.

In lieu of a reply, Mingi slots their mouths together into something soft like cotton candy, pink and cloyingly sweet. The kiss stops before it can catch momentum, take them further than either intended.

Mingi slides cold feet between Yunho’s calves, puts his cheek on his shoulder, and gives a little contented sigh. 

Yunho kisses his temple then forehead, closes his eyes while something wild and pulsing unwinds through his chest.

He’ll think about it in the morning.


End file.
